Pygmalion Of Dystopia
by TheWeasleyBoys
Summary: No matter how ultraviolent he became, she would always be at the Korova waiting for him...  M rating for content, implied Dim/Lucy


**Author's Note**—This is a somewhat unusual turn for me character-wise, and also a second attempt at fusing movie to novel somehow with the biggest of the four droogs (and, dare I say, probably the toughest). I say this because I had a tough time getting inside this character's head during some points, and that those visits made me feel terror and vertigo in the exact same minute…so there you go. Now I know how Edward Norton's character in 'Fight Club' felt when he got acid poured onto his hand.

Anyways…most of this is canon with a few improvised bits along the way so that I could stir the two media styles together, so…here's hoping I didn't dishonor the originals too badly. I've read what Little Tom Pepper has written and thus do I do an 'I'll see you and raise you' with my own take on this character, and pray that it's a good one. I also hope it ties well with the Greek myth of Pygmalion, even if it's just a milk-dispenser who won't ever come to life.

P.S.: If you're too young to read/review M-rated stories, please hit the back button now, because I wouldn't want to upset your parents/guardians. If not…by all means, continue, because I love visitors. :)

P.P.S. This one's for you, Panda. ;) Hope you like this as a late-but-great present.

**Pygmalion of Dystopia**

One dark chilly winter nochy, I considered leaving Lucy behind on her pedestal and going over to say Hi there to some sharps sitting in a corner, because they weren't just alive, they were flicking their glazzies towards me, they were also up for a bit of pol, and there was enough of me there for all three of them. I could have shared them with my droogs back by Lucy, of course, but I just didn't think that would be playing like the game as well as doing it on my oddy knocky. It would be much more fun to find out if their lipsticks tasted like lime, orange, and grape the same as they'd dyed their wigs, and what the rest of them tasted like once I got them all into a cubie at the back.

But oh no _no_, the droog sitting next to me had to have other orders for the night. Instead of getting the first bite for myself for once, I had to itty off after our great nadsat and nasty little leader, and for now I had to say bye-bye-bye to those sharps, because I had no idea when they would come again. All three of them could be gone after our nightly laughs and lashings, and so I would not get my big big share of what those devotchkas had to offer. At least I would have Lucy waiting for me when I returned. I'd never share her with no other malchick nor vecks except for like the peeting of the milk-plus, and that's that. It was a good thing, then, that they stuck her to that pedestal with all its pretty malenky white lights. She wouldn't be leaving the Korova anytime soon, so I would viddy her again and enjoy all her offers soon enough.

Firstly, we went and visited some filthy drunkie under some bridge, and after being jabbed only once or twice, he practically begged us for some more, but not before going on about men on the moon and men spinning round the earth and there being no earthly law and order no more. For one minoota, I wondered if his dirty drunkie slovos had any sense in them. Just how many of those men were off spinning like round the earth at this hour, and just what was it they looked at every night? Then the four of us started to tolchock him together, and for that time being, I stopped wondering. If there's anything on earth I couldn't pass up, it was the chance for a good tolchock.

Secondways, we went and made sure Billyboy and his droogs did their mischief elsewhere, because there was no way our leader wanted them doing such mischief in his big special favorite music hall. He had much rather see it get left alone or some other such nonsense, and all because there was nobody left to play or listen to Ludwig Van there no more, whoever that was. As for myself, I just liked getting this one malchick with both ends of my oozy as fast as I could, left-right-left-right and so on. I could have gone at him all night, if not for the sirens and Alex's poogly malenky slovos about us going before the millicents arrived. He was always holding me back, he was.

On our way out out out, I wondered about what the drunkie said and about those men on the moon or round the earth or what else was on them. What would be up there on things like that? I was the only one with such veshches on my rassoodock, unfortunately, because all Alex talked about was being knifed and doing the knifing, and everybody else smecked. It was nothing but a great bolshy joke to them, and for that, I took it personally.

_All three of you will wish you never did that, oh yes you will_, I thought to myself. _Just you wait, I might be the one who gets to smeck in the end._

I would keep that veshch in mind for some time yet, and at the same time never hint at it until the time was right. In the meantime and a little bit thirdwise, we drove off with a stolen car and headed for HOME, one of our surprise visits currently in progress. The youngish zheena and starry vecks living inside never viddied what was on our minds until it was too late. All Alex had to do was play like all innocent and worried and pretend that one of us was in need of an ambulance, and then all four of us were masked and coming HOME, and I got to sample the zheena as I carried her back inside.

_Well well well, you're shaped just like an apple…and you're just as colorful and juicy, too,_ I thought, giving her a quick squeeze down below. _I'll get a taste of you before I leave, oh yes I will, just you wait and see._

In the meantime, after a kick to the litso, a malenky bit of help from Georgie, and Pete's directions to check the rest of this HOME for treasure, the starry vecks went down just as Alex discovered what he'd been using his old typewriter for. According to that vecks on the floor, someone was about to turn us all into 'Clockwork Oranges' or some other kind of filth and nastiness. I could have done with an orange or two then, as I was still a growing malchick and all that cal. As for Alex, he was about to prove to that starry writer just how much not like no orange he really was. All he had to do was start turning that typewritten stuff into miraculous snowflakes, and just like clockwork, that writer went bezoomny and started in on us…or, should I say, that was when I started in on him? I got to pick up where I left off in the big lovely music hall, only this time, I used my fisties instead of the old oozy. No sirens or millicents were around to stop us, and that meant I could go left-right left-right left-right as long as I liked to do. The zheena in red was too poogly to get in the way, and this writer's red red vino flowed so fast that it stained the carpet. I didn't plan on stopping until he blacked out, but then we had an unexpected audience.

Pete found all the shiny stuff a bit more skorry than little Alex expected, and after that, he found himself some mounch to boot and soon came back to viddy all what we had been up to at that very minoota. I wondered if he planned on eating all that plum cake by himself, or if he might have wanted to share an itsy witsy bit of it, if not also half of that bottle of beer. He would have gotten some of this devotchka in return, that is, if I felt as generous that nochy as he might be towards me.

Too bad little Alex didn't feel the same way, because not only did he order Pete to drop that mounch, he also gave a slovo or two ordering him to help Georgie hold the bleeding veck of a writer still. It was time he and I did that other veshch, which meant I would get my bite of that big juicy zheena after all. I'd waited to do something like this ever since we left Lucy behind, and with the starry writer as our captive audience, now the stage was set for that something to happen.

Fourth and finally was when our big performance of the chilly bastard nochy took place. I did my usual routine. I did what I did to get little nasty Alex what he thought he wanted, when in reality, it was all to get myself what I wanted more, and what I wanted tonight was to find out if this sharp was as thick and as fleshy as she looked. We sung like an act on Statefilm, he danced, he gagged the zheena and the starry vecks together, and then the lady in red was ours, whether she wanted to or not. Neither she nor her old man could ever say oh no no, could ever knock us down, could never do like this thing or that thing, could never not no more. And all because they were completely gagged and we were holding their rookers still while our great leader peeled her red suit to shreds and had his way with her. After he marked his territory and withdrew and redressed himself, he traded places with me so that I might have my turn.

Seven minootas was all it took for me to do the same as him, and then come up for air and changeovers so that others would get what was rightfully theirs. Pete made a move to go next but Alex wasn't done with him, because he would have to go last no thanks to those few minootas he spent in the kitchen. It was time he learned how to follow orders down to the last slovo, as our nasty nadsat leader claimed. Georgie had an easy time with her when his time came, lucky for him. I could think that because she just stopped thrashing around and making a load of shoom as he was taking the plunge. I wished him the same joy I had with her as well, that is, if he didn't have nothing else but gold on the brain. As for Pete, he didn't make any angry slovos about the sticky stuff we left behind, and did exactly as he was told. Too bad he couldn't have looked a little happier about it all, though—it wasn't every night we got a nice red apple of a devotchka all to ourselves, now, was it?

_Anyways…_

Once we have all of our fun, we leave a mess behind us. Bye-bye, china vases. Bye-bye, fancy chairs. Bye-bye, starry typewriter. Bye-bye, 'A Clockwork Orange' manifesto biblio veshch, whatever that was that got left behind. We paid those miraculous snowflakes no more attention, except to razrez anything else we could find the same way on our way out out out.

And then, after riding back into town, watching our old droog of a Durango 95 snuff it, and fillying about with that espresso rapido, at long long last, it was back into the Korova. Back in for a nightcap where I launched myself into orbit, where I landed in the lap of Lucy and got my share of her milk-plus. My Lucy with her doe-like glazzies and her pale yellowish luscious glory and not a stitch on her snow-white plott. My Lucy who also wore an oozy even though she wound it round her rookers years ago.

And for one minoota, I wished I could have had her and not no zheena in red…or no sharp in black for that matter. Sometimes, devotchkas were a lot more fun when they never thought to fight back, and like wondered to themselves if they acted all loving and harmless, they could get their malchicks and chellovecks to do the same to them, even during those malchicks' bad moods where they got their devotchkas' zoobies smashed out and their litsos left all black and blue because they flashed their glazzies at some other boy. I never would, of course, but such things were and are still good for a laugh now and then.

And for one minoota, she stared back at me all curious and like welcoming. No matter how long we were out for or what time we came back, no matter whether or not I pulled her lever without saying a word to her first, no matter whether or not I wondered about tolchocking her to dust and bits and pieces, she'd still look the same—her painted glazzies open and ready to viddy me, her rot all puckered like asking me for a kiss, her bare white plott lying there for all the stars and the Luna and the earth and sky to enjoy.

And for one minoota, nobody smecked.

_Pardon me, Luce. _


End file.
